Alternate Episodes Series
by LittleDarlingXOX
Summary: A collection of White Collar episodes with alternate endings or what if scenarios that goes further in strengthening Neal and Peter's friendship and expands on their emotions during scenes in the show. Some chapter will focus on Neal's relationships with side characters.
1. Gloves Off

Alternate Ending to Episode 9 "Gloves Off" in Season 4: _Peter chases Neal to Sam's apartment and the two fight. The place, however, isn't as empty as Peter thought and Neal ends up in a hostage situation._

* * *

Peter's car screeched to a halt in front of Sam's house. Peter jumped out of the driver's side the moment the wheels stopped.

"Hey!" He called to Neal, who didn't even glance of him, instead continuing his fast pace towards the stairs to Sam's place. The car door slammed shut and Peter raced to catch up with him. "Stop."

"What'd you do? Run him through the database?" Neal called over his shoulder, too angry to stop moving for even a second. He had a good feeling that if he did then Peter would use that paternal tone on him and he'd find himself seated in the passenger seat of his car on his way back to June's before he knew what was happening. He wouldn't let Peter use their friendship to get what he wanted again. Not this time.

"Neal, stop!" The other man ran up behind him to fall in line with Neal's brisk speed.

"You met with him, the one thing he didn't want." Neal accused. He was more than a little annoyed that the older man wouldn't just leave him alone. He didn't want to have this argument outside for the whole street to witness.

"Give me a break." Peter cut in front of him, effectively forcing Neal to stop. "All bets were off once you showed him the tape."

"I never showed him the tape."

Peter shook his head, like at some level he was annoyed that he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion and was called out on it. But Neal could still see that the FBI agent in him wasn't going to let it go. "The point is you said you weren't going to meet with him."

"No, no. I said I wouldn't show him the tape. I met with him because he's the only person who had a connection to Ellen. He knew her. He knew my father." He let his hands fall open in a silent plea for Peter to _just believe him_ for once.

Peter sighed. "You should have told me."

"I don't have to report to you every move I make."

"Yes, you do."

Why couldn't Peter understand that he might be a ward of the state, but he wasn't a child? Peter might act like his father, but that didn't give him the right to dictate what Neal did on his off hours.

" _No_." Neal snapped, his patience with this treatment wearing thin. "I get to have a private life."

Peter simply shook his head. "Not about this. You don't."

Neal stared at him. He thought he knew the man in front of him. Thought that he had gained his trust and acceptance after working alongside him for so long, but it was times likes these when Neal realized Peter was never going to change. Peter never stopped thinking like an FBI agent and no matter what he considered Neal, friend or otherwise, he was always going to be a criminal in his eyes.

"Well, that's the heart of our problem isn't it? You don't trust me. You still don't trust me."

As far as Neal was concerned, this conversation was over. He stepped around Peter's stationary form, his anger from before resurfacing. Neal took the steps up to Sam's place two at a time, aware of Peter's presence at his heels. He rolled his eyes mentally, of course Peter wouldn't trust him enough to leave him alone.

Peter caught his sleeve at the top of the stairs. "The door's open. Stay here."

A part of Neal wanted to shout at Peter to go away and let him handle it on his own, that this was all his fault for treating Neal like a child, but he knew that would do nothing to help his case at the moment. Instead, Neal settled for jerking his arm out of Peter's grip and watched as he pulled his gun from his holster, stepping into the building with it raise in front of him

Neal watched Peter advance down the hallway through the opened door for a moment before sighing to himself in annoyance and walking in after the agent. If Neal didn't want to be treated like a child, he had to stop letting Peter order him around. Inside, the apartment was a mess, paintings hanging off the wall and drawers spilling their contents onto the floor. Glass cracked under Neal's foot and Peter glanced behind him at Neal, an exasperated look on his face that Neal ignored.

As Peter did a quick sweep of the adjoining rooms in the apartment, Neal turning in a circle, taking in the full extent of the damage. The entire place was ransacked, but whatever they were looking for they hadn't found it. Neal recalled Sam's phone call to him from earlier, thankful that the man had left before whoever did this caught up with him.

"He's gone, Peter." Neal called towards the kitchen where Peter had disappeared into, gun still pointed out in front of him. Peter emerged from the kitchen a moment later, sliding his gun back into it's holster at his hip.

"I'll call it in." said Peter.

Neal threw his hands up in the air.

Peter spared him a sympathetic glance. "We'll find Sam."

"This is exactly why Sam didn't want you running his name."

Peter sighed and turned around to face the wall, his hands coming up to run through his hair. He looked angry with himself. _Good_ , Neal thought, _he should be_. "They found him because of you. They found Ellen because of you."

Neal watched as Peter slipped his phone out of his pocket.

"Neal— look, I'm sorry. Just let me call it in and we can—"

There was the sudden sound of footsteps behind him and Neal turned, thinking Diana and Jones must have followed them from the gym. He only caught a glimpse of a man that was certainly not Jones, before a thick arm snaked itself around his neck and pulled him tight against the man's chest. Something cold and hard pressed up under Neal's chin, forcing his head back.

"Peter—" Neal struggled, trying to twist out of the hold, his hands tugging at the arm holding him hostage. Peter turned at once at the panic that must have been laced in Neal's voice, his gun drawn and held in front of him.

"FBI! Let him go now!" Peter shouted.

"I can't do that," The man responded, his voice deep and loud spoken next to Neal's ear through the ski mask that covered his face. "If I let him go then you're going to make that call. I won't make it more than a couple of blocks before the FBI catches up with me."

Neal adjusted his grip on his attacker's wrist, dropping one of his arms down to his side. There was the chance he might be able to injure the man enough to break free of his grip. At this angle his best shot was to grab the man by the balls and twist sharply. It would hurt like hell, but there was no guarantee the man wouldn't pull the trigger by accident. Neal made eyes with Peter, signalling his intent, but Peter gave the barest shake of his head.

Peter released his hold on his gun with one hand, showing where his phone had been previously pressed to the grip of the gun. "Here's my phone. You can have it."

Peter tossed the phone at the man's feet, who instantly kicked it sideways into another room.

Peter's hand joined his other back on the grip of his gun, loosely this time, his fingers pointed out in a calming gesture. "Okay? I can't call anyone now. Let's keep this civil, alright? You let go my C.I. and make your escape. I promise no one will chase you."

Neal's kidnapper shifted back a step, Neal stumbling backwards with him as the pressure on his throat increased. Neal grunted at the restricting feeling, he tugged at the arm that felt like a band of metal across his neck for all the give it offered. He arched his neck, gasping quietly as a little more air entered his lungs. The gun was readjusted so it was back under his chin. Neal could feel the cool metal sliding along his skin, jabbing him in the jaw every once in awhile when his kidnapper's hand shook.

"You're C.I., what's that?"

"Criminal informant," Neal panted, his throat working against the arm pressing into it. "I work with the FBI on their art crime cases— museum heists, bond forgeries… you get the picture."

"And he's a valuable asset to my team, so I'd appreciate it if you left him unharmed."

Neal tried not to let Peter's words stoke his previous anger, this wasn't the time for it afterall. Still, _asset?_ Was that what Peter considered him? Something owned by the FBI to be lended out to any agent? He thought bitterly that he might not be in this situation if the FBI thought of him as more of an agent than a piece of property— gave him a gun or a bulletproof vest instead of a tracking anklet.

"Alright, since he's so valuable, you're going to put your gun on the floor and toss me your handcuffs and car keys. Neal is coming with me for a ride. You can have him back after I've had a talk with him about Sam Phelps."

Neal shared a nervous glance with Peter. Peter gave an audacious laugh full of false bravado. "Well that's not going to happen. Besides what use will Neal be concerning Sam? Do you think we would be here right now if we knew where Sam?"

Peter's acting was good, but apparently not good enough.

"Cut the crap!" the man snarled, gun moving from Neal's chin to his thigh, pressing into the muscle below his hip, hard enough to leave a bruise. "I heard you talking outside. I know he's been in contact with Phelps and he's going to help me contact him again. Now, gun on the floor or I put a bullet in your C. I.'s leg. He doesn't need that to talk."

"Okay, okay!" Peter raised his hands, and crouched slowly until he could place the gun on the floor. He stood and kicked it sideways. Neal's attacker turned his gun on Peter and jerked it towards his belt.

"Handcuffs and car keys. Pass them to your friend."

The gun stayed trained on Peter as he crept forward and placed the cuffs and keys into Neal's outstretched hand. Neal contemplated chucking them as far as possible to throw off the man's plans, but knew that'd probably only get the both of them shot. Instead he gripped them awkwardly in one hand as he was dragged backwards towards the door and down the front steps, Peter creeping along after them like he was afraid of taking his eyes off of Neal.

His feet hit the sidewalk and then all at once Neal heard the startled cries of bystanders. Neal was jerked wildly in a half-circle as the man swiveled the gun, shouting "Everyone to the other side of the street. Now!"

Peter came scrambling down the steps, his badge held up in an attempt to control the situation. "I'm Agent Burke with the FBI. Everyone remain calm and do as he says."

Neal caught sight of a few people running the other way as he was dragged backwards towards the passenger side of Peter's car and shoved roughly against the side of the car.

The gun was pressed to the back of his head. The handcuffs were snatched out of his hand. "Hands behind your back. Don't try anything stupid."

Neal did as he was told. As the cuffs were being snapped onto his wrists he tried to steal a glance over the top of the car at Peter. His friend stood motionless, looking completely uncomfortable with where this situation was heading. Neal couldn't blame him. He supposed he was lucky the man hadn't realized he was wearing a tracking anklet, at least the FBI would be able to find them when they started moving.

The man took Peter's keys from Neal's fingers and unlocked the passenger side door. Neal was grabbed roughly by his sweatshirt and shoved in. As soon as Neal's butt hit the seat he wiggled around until his hands were in the cupholder, knowing Peter liked to keep paper clips in there. He seized one with his fingertips and hid it in his fist right as the driver's door opened and the man climbed in, gun pointed at Neal's head.

"Stop moving around," he grunted at him. "lean against the door."

Neal did as he was told, turning until his back was pressed against the door, his body shielding his movements from view.

As skilled as he was with picking locks, especially handcuffs, it was still a slow process sitting without a seatbelt in a moving car in New York City traffic. Neal tried to plant one of his feet to keep himself from being thrown sideways every time the car merged into a new lane and continued with a new burst of speed passed the slower cars. Neal gritted his teeth and hissed a curse as the paperclip slipped out of the keyhole in the cuffs for the third time.

Neal leaned his head back against the window, ignoring the jostling his skull took against the glass in order to sneak a peek behind them. No sign of the flashing red and blue lights yet. "Taking your time calling for backup there, Peter." Neal muttered under his breath.

"What are you saying?" Neal nearly went crossed eyed as the gun was shoved into his face.

"Nothing," replied Neal. The gun retreated a bit and Neal breathed a little easier at that. The handcuffs unlocked with a subtle click. Neal's sigh of relief was drowned by the accelerating engine as they turned down a side street. The car jerked to a stop with a curse from the driver. A garbage truck block the street. Neal's abductor wailed on the horn impatiently.

"What were you looking for in Sam's place, anyway?"

The gun was back under Neal's nose with only half a glance spared in his direction. "You don't get to ask the questions."

"Fair enough."

The man blared the horn in quick blasts again, only for the garbage collectors to start hollering and flashing him the finger. Still, they made no notion of hurrying their pace like they were going this slow just to spite Neal's abductor. Neal rolled his eyes, you gotta love New Yorkers.

Neal caught movement behind them out of the corner of his eye. He shifted a bit until he could peek through the side mirror where he could see a black sedan had pulled up behind them. Neal grinned, he could spot one of those crappy undercover FBI vehicles anywhere, even if Diana and Peter weren't sitting in the front. Neal glances quickly back at the man next to him, but as far as he could tell he hadn't noticed anything was amiss.

Neal's eyes crept back towards the mirror. Peter had opened the side door and was standing with one foot out the car door. Neal figured this was the only chance he was going to get. Before he could psych himself out, Neal lunged for the center console and shoved the gear stick into park. The car doors unlocked with a click and Neal threw his body back towards the passenger door with all his strength. His kidnapper yelled something unintelligible and grabbed for Neal's legs. Neal's fingers found the door handle, he tugged harshly and fell forward out of the car.

"Clear the street! Get down!" Diana was yelling to the workers parked in front of them.

Neal tried to army crawl the rest of the way out of the car, but his ankle was caught in the man's vice grip and tugged back harshly. Neal twisted his upper body until he could look back into the car interior. His stomach lurched up into this throat when he found himself with a gun aimed at his head. He wrapped his arms around his head and rolled to the side, the first two shot ricocheting off the asphalt by his shoulder.

" _Peter!_ " Neal screamed.

The battery of gunfire that erupted a second later was so loud Neal was pretty sure it drowned out his own frantic inner thoughts for a second. The passenger side window shattered and rained glass down onto Neal's prone body. Bullets _pinged_ off the sides of the car and through his squinted eyes Neal could see muzzle flashes from inside Peter's car. Neal turned his head to see Peter waving his arm at him, pointing off to the side. Through the din Neal could just make out the word _Run!_ being yelled at him and it was only them that Neal realized his leg had been released.

He scrambled across the pavement towards the black sedan, head kept low to avoid any bullets flying around. Broken glass cut into his bare palms, leaving them bloody but the burning sting felt like nothing with the adrenaline coursing through Neal's system. When he was within reach Peter grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him against the side of the car behind the opened car door. Peter's hand was like iron, pressing against his collarbone and pinning him to the car.

Diana yelled something and all at once the gunfire ceased.

Neal's ears were still ringing and he didn't notice Peter was calling his name until the older man was crouched in front of him, worried face looming in front of his own. Neal opened his mouth to speak but couldn't get any words to leave his mouth with his heart still pounding like a drum in his chest. He closed his eyes tightly and let his head fall back against the car, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down.

Rough hands pressed against his forehead and tugged at his clothes looking for injuries. As the ringing faded from his ears Neal was aware of Peter's continuous stream of words being directed at him. "Can you hear me? Neal, are you hurt anywhere?"

Peter tapped his cheek lightly. It roused Neal enough for him to open his eyes.

"Diana called an ambulance, it'll be here any minute now. I need you to answer me, Neal. Can you hear me?"

Peter's hand moved to tap his face again, but Neal grasped his wrist before he could.

"M'okay, Peter." he groaned. He had a feeling Peter didn't miss the shakiness of his fingers.

Peter sighed with relief and slumped back until he was sitting on the ground. "Thank God."

Neal could hear the distant wail of an ambulance siren approaching them.

"Hey, Peter?"

"Yeah, what is it, Neal?" asked Peter.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I know you were just looking out for me. Thanks for following me."

Peter smiled and ruffled Neal's already rumpled hair. "Don't mention it."


	2. Shot Through the Heart

_What if episode 11 "Shot Through the Heart" in season 5 had ended differently. Neal uses himself as bait to draw out Rebecca but doesn't predict the card Rebecca has hidden up her sleeve. Meshes some plot points from episode 12 concerning Mozzie._

* * *

Rebecca stared down at the handcuffs that linked them together, a look of amused shock gracing her features.

"The FBI's on the way." stated Neal. He dropped the flash drive of blackmail information that had been held over him for far too long already onto the ground and crushed the plastic under his heel.

"You called the Feds?" asked Rebecca, like she couldn't believe Neal was capable of being that stupid.

"You killed my new handler." Neal countered. He was still bitter about that, but truthfully, that was only one of the reasons why he had made the call. David Siegel had been a good man and a good handler, even for the short amount of time that Neal had known him. Neal was a con man and he was used to picking up on the bad types right away. David had had that same drive for answer that Neal saw in Peter. Neal could see nothing wrong with it until it got him killed for coming too close to Rebecca— _Rachel_ , Neal corrected himself, mentally. This was Rachel Turner he was standing in front of. MI5 agent. Killer.

Still, Neal had never known her as Rachel, and with her hair still long and dyed red it felt pointless to think of her as anything but a darker version of the Rebecca he'd dated.

Rebecca drew her gun from the waistband of her pants and cocked it at Neal. He shifted backwards as far as their cuffed hands would allow. "Don't make me do this, Neal."

Neal glanced down at the gun pointed at his chest and shook his head. "Too late. It's over"

"You're an idiot." Rebecca sneered. "We could have had everything."

"It wouldn't have been real."

"You're a con man, you could have convinced yourself but instead you choose to stay shackled." Neal wasn't sure if her nod was at his anklet or their cuffed hands, but at the moment either one was a sufficient example to prove her point.

"But still freer than you." Neal quirked an eyebrow at her, undeterred even as she laughed mockingly in his face. "You're always running from one identity to the next because you can't face the truth."

"What's that?" Rebecca asked, attempting to look curious, but Neal caught the twitch in her jaw, the thinning of her lips that she couldn't control that revealed her true feelings. She already knew what he was going to say, but Neal spat the words out at her anyway, savoring in seeing her reaction.

"That you hate who you really are and I can see why."

Rebecca said nothing, instead she pulled down the safety on her gun. Neal took a steadying breath and stared at the silencer, waiting for the gunshot that would stop his heart. Peter had convinced him that Rebecca loved him, but Neal had a feeling she didn't love him enough to stick around and get arrested.

"You know me so well? You'd know I never turn up without a way out."

Neal did know that, it was something he'd picked up about her quickly over the course of this week. "Actually there are three ways out." he said, hoping to draw her towards where the FBI were lying in wait. "Through the south window or one of two doors."

Rebecca smirked at him with such sudden confidence it had Neal taken aback. "You've always underestimated me. There's a fourth way."

Neal sighed and nodded towards the dresser. "You're right. Behind that dresser is a door, take it and it'll lead you out into a back alley."

Rebecca laughed. "Underestimating me again, Neal. I knew you were going to try that trick on me, just like you tried to get me to confess to you in the park. No… that's not the one I was talking about."

She reached for her jacket pocket with her cuffed hand, tugging Neal closer to her in the process. She drew her cellphone out of her pocket and hit a number on speed dial. "Hey," she said to someone on the other end of the line. "put him on."

She extended the phone towards him with a smile that was anything but sweet. "It's for you."

Neal took the phone and lifted it hesitantly to his ear. "Hello?"

"Bonjour, mon frère. I'm afraid we didn't foresee this outcome."

Neal glanced worried at Rebecca. "Moz? What's happened? Where are you?"

"It's quite a poetic justice actually. My one true love in life is actually my—" Mozzie broke of with a hacking cough that left him slightly breathless so that the last part of his sentence came out as a wheeze. " — _my demise_."

Neal could clearly hear the coughing fit that occurred afterwards.

"Mozzie?" Neal barked into the phone when his friend's voice didn't return.

"What did you do to Mozzie?" Neal growled, rounding on Rebecca.

Rebecca extended her hand for the phone. Neal slapped it into her palm. "I spiked one of your bottles of wine with poison. Nothing that can't be reversed if the antidote is brought to the hospital doctors fast enough."

"Why?" asked Neal. "What did Mozzie ever do to you?"

Rebecca shrugged. "Nothing, but like I said, Neal. I know you. I studied you for a long time before I became Rebecca, and I know that you'll do _anything_ to save your friends."

"You really are heartless."

Rebecca made a face. "Yeah, it's really keeping me up at night. Here's the deal… you get me out of here without the FBI seeing and I'll have my man tell Mozzie's doctors what the antidote is."

Neal sighed. "Fine."

"Aww, don't look so glum, Handsome." Rebecca grinned like a predatory animal. "You should be happy I'm not putting a bullet in your chest."

Neal stopped mentally calculating the least guarded exit just long enough to flashed her an entirely fake smile. "Lucky me."

Neal decided on the south window, since he had told Peter he would be herding Rebecca towards the back of the building, and tugged on his trapped arm to urge Rebecca to follow after him. "This way."

Neal lead the way to the window, aware the entire time of the gun Rebecca had trained at the back of his head. He braced himself against the window frame and kicked at the boards that barred any entry. They emerged out onto a fire escape and hurried down the steps, their feet quiet on the rain-slick metal grating.

"Come on," It was Rebecca's turn to lead, tugging Neal along by the handcuff for two blocks before she deemed them out of the FBI radius. She pulled him into an alleyway behind a chinese restaurant, the dumpster bins overflowing with trash bags shielding them from the headlights of passing cars and any curious eyes.

"Keys." She gestured with her gun at their linked hands. Neal pulled the small handcuff key out of his pant pocket and unshackled their wrists, stuffing the cuffs back into his pocket.

"Alright, your turn." said Neal. "Make the call."

"Wrong again, Handsome."

Tires screeched behind Neal. He jerked around to see a van lurch to a stop, the side door sliding open with a bang. Neal stepped back, arms raised to fend off whoever lunged out at him and cried out at the electrifying pain that traveled down from his neck. He crumpled to the trash-strewn ground in a heap of numb limbs, his head cracking against the asphalt. Neal waited for the the nauseating ache to diminish, his breaths coming out in pained gasps.

Red hair fell down across his eyes and tickled his ear.

"Sorry it had to happen this way, Neal." Rebecca spoke into his ear as her small hand dug into his pocket for his phone.

Someone out of Neal's sight, probably the person in the van, yanked Neal's leg out by the foot and clipped his anklet. He heard the _clang_ of it as it was tossed into the dumpster. Before he could think to call out for help, he was being lifted around the waist and dragged into the van.

The door shut, locking him in darkness. Neal's eyes closed and didn't open for awhile.

* * *

When Neal resurfaced again, it was with a killer headache — worse than the strongest hangover he had ever woken up with. He groaned, squinting his eyes against the daylight that streamed in through a side window. Neal tried his best to assess his current situation without the use of his eyes. He was seated in a folding chair, the metal cool and firm against his rear. His hands were restrained behind his back, a quick, outward, tug revealed that it was with zip ties, not handcuffs. One secured his wrists tightly together, cutting off circulation, another linked through the first and wrapped around the support rod of the chair. The fact that he couldn't slide his feet forward told him his ankles were equally shackled.

He should have been grateful that he wasn't gagged or blindfolded, but with the way his head was ringing at the moment, he would have appreciated something to block out the light. It was a slow process, opening his eyes, with a lot of blinking through watery eyes but eventually he was able to see. He took in the bare, loft-space he'd been placed in. Boarded windows lined one wall of the large room, fracturing the sunlight into thin rays. There wasn't much in the space besides a table with a laptop sitting on top, a few stacked, plastic, containers, and a bare mattress. It wasn't exactly fine living.

At that moment the industrial sliding door at the end of the room opened and Rebecca entered, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She smiled when she saw that Neal was awake and dropped her bag on the table, making her way over to him. Neal glared up at her as she came to stand in front of him.

"Sleeping beauty, you're finally awake." She stepped up to one side of Neal's chair and swung one leg over to the other side, planting herself on top of Neal's knees, arms wrapping around Neal's neck to rest on the backrest. Her fingers played with the baby hairs at the back of Neal's neck. "That's a shame. I was hoping I'd have to kiss you awake."

Neal jerked his head away from her inquisitive fingers. "I think in this scenario you're the dragon, not Prince Charming."

She quirked an eyebrow, "Does that make Agent Burke your knight in shining armour?" Rebecca laughed. "How disgustingly sweet."

Neal ignored her. "What am I doing here, Rebecca?"

"Haven't you guessed it already, Neal? Afterall, just a few hours ago you were telling me how much you loved me and how you wanted to run away with me. 'Let's find the diamond together', and all that..."

She waved a hand, dismissively.

"I was telling you what you wanted to hear to buy the FBI time to surround the building." said Neal.

"Oh I know you were, but that doesn't mean it can't still happen." Rebecca glided her hands through Neal's hair, unperturbed by his involuntary cringe. "We can find the diamond together, run away to Paris and live as Nick Halden and Rebecca Lowe. The FBI won't be able to reach us there."

Neal shook her fingers loose from his hair, and stared determinedly at the boarded up windows. "Except Rebecca Lowe never existed. You just combined all of the characteristics of my past girlfriends into one persona that you knew I wouldn't be able to resist."

Rebecca turned Neal's face to look into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated with excitement. "But you did fall for me, Neal. Despite all of your stiff words, I know how you truly feel about me. I'd do it again for you, Neal. I'll make myself into anything you want— with Kate's hair color, Sarah's temper, Alex's sensuality… whatever combination you wanted. You're a con man, it wouldn't take much to make yourself believe it after awhile."

She gripped Neal's jaw tightly and smashed her lips to his own. Her tongue, warm and slick, worked its way between his stiff lips to explore deeper. Neal groaned and tried to twist free of her hold, his hands tugging uselessly against their bindings. Rebecca's thighs were like iron, squeezing and pinning him to the chair so he couldn't toss her off of him. When she released him, Neal was left gasping. He tried in vain to wipe his mouth against the shoulder of his suit jacket, but couldn't quite reach.

"You can't tell me that a kiss like that doesn't bring back memories." said Rebecca with a smile.

"It does actually," Neal glared up at her through the hair in his eyes. "of a lecherous, burly, Russian that I let stick his tongue down my throat in exchange for a manual on truck repair so I could escape from Supermax. I gotta say… he was a _much_ better kisser."

Rebecca laughed at him and tapped him mockingly on the cheek. "Ohh, I like it when you get feisty, Caffrey." Her eyes narrowed. "Save some of that for tonight. For now, I think I'll give you some time to think... weigh out your options."

She slid off of Neal's knees and moved towards the door, calling over her shoulder. "I'll send my new partner in in a few hours to bring you some food and water, and make sure you don't have an accident."

The door slid shut with a bang and Neal sighed to himself, his fingers already searching along the back of the chair for a sharp piece of metal to saw through his bindings with. He hoped he could make an escape before Rebecca came back with any other deranged ideas about how to make him love her again.

Neal hadn't been able to find anything sharp to use as a knife, so instead he'd changed tactics. He clenched his arm muscles tight and rubbed his palms together, working up friction and a thin layer of sweat along his arms that he used to slick his wrists. He squeezed his fingers tightly together and twisted, slowly working his wrist up against the zip ties until he could slip it through. It took nearly an hour for one of Neal's hands to _finally_ slip free of the plastic and by that point the skin on his other wrist was chafed raw. Thankfully, though there was enough room to free his other hand without any further damage. After that, it just took an awkward waddle across the room with Neal's ankles still bound to the chair legs, forcing him to carry the folding chair against his back. He was glad no one was around to witness it, because this was definitely not one of his grander escapes.

He searched through the top plastic container one-handed, the other keeping the chair from clanging against the floor and alerting his captors.

" _Come on_ ," Neal hissed. His eyes landing on the handle of a pair of pliers. It would have to do. He snatched them out of the bin and crouched down, worming the metal tongs in between the plastic band and his skin. He squeezed the tongs shut, twisting the pliers in a tight circle. If he could weaken the material enough, he might be able to snap the ties.

He worked savagely at the ties, his hands slippery with sweat and eventually was able to break free. Neal looked around the room for an escape route, turning in a quick circle. Only one door that lead to who-knows-where. Neal cross to the nearest window and peeked through the boards. The room he was in seemed to be on the second floor, a lower roof jutting off underneath the row of windows. Neal started prying off the boards, hoping the drop down wasn't too far. The boards fell in a clatter at his feet.. Neal's eyes flickered between the far door and the glass panels on the window as he yanked his jacket off and wrapped it around his fist.

He stared at the jacket, a silly part of Neal unwilling to ruin a perfectly good suit even if it would lead to his escape.

"Sorry about this, Byron." He punched a hole in the glass and knocked the broken shards out of the frame, clearing a safe path for him to climb over. The far door crashed against the end of its track.

" _Neal_ ," Rebecca advanced towards him, gun raised. "don't make me hurt you."

Neal half turned back towards her, one leg dangling out the window. He raised his hand defensively at the sight of the gun.

"I know you don't want to shoot me, Rebecca." said Neal. "You won't be able to get me past airport security with a gunshot wound and I can guarantee you that any delays in your plan will bring Peter and the rest of the FBI one step closer to finding us."

"Smart boy," she flicked her gun sideways. "Now step back inside and this won't have to turn ugly for you."

Neal's eyes flickered to the roof below him, then back to Rebecca. "Afraid I can't do that."

He threw himself sideways, tucking into a corkscrew roll. He expected the impact with the roof to hurt. But that still didn't prepare him for the pain and the horrible moment of breathlessness that occurred afterwards as the air was pummeled out of his body. He stared up at the window he'd just jumped from, drawing in a breath that was more of a croak than anything else. Rebecca appeared in the window frame, her expression an odd mixture of worry and fury. Despite the burning in Neal's chest, he shoved himself to his feet and scrambled towards the edge of the roof where the top of a ladder was bolted into the brick siding.

Neal cried out as an incredible pain surged through his calf. He clutched the ladder and looked down at his leg, the grey material quickly staining a darker color. She'd shot him, obviously only in an attempt to stop his escape, but _still_ Neal didn't think she'd actually _shoot_ him!

He practically fell down the rest of the ladder, landing with a muffled cry on his injured leg. Neal looked around wildly, unsure of his surroundings and the best place to head off in. He moved left, clinging close to the wall— both for protection from Rebecca's gun and because he was finding it hard to continue moving without the wall to support him.

He rounded the building and suddenly found himself face to face with Rebecca's new partner; a man that looked like Jones, if Jones were a few feet taller and pumped full of steroids.

"Hey, hey…" Neal fell back against the bricks as the man advanced towards him with a dangerous looking crowbar, suspiciously rusted on one end. Neal's imagination didn't have to work too hard to figure out what that was from. "Wait a second…wait— "

Neal didn't need to finish that sentence as his attacker was tackled against the wall and pinned there. Neal stared wide-eyed at Peter who had seemingly appeared out of thin air, his gun shoved against the other man's back.

"FBI," grunted Peter. "Drop the crowbar and put your hands flat against the wall."

The perpetrator did as instructed. Neal watched as Peter snapped handcuffs on the man and if the sun happened to be shining a certain way around Peter, illuminating his broad figure in an orange glow, Neal decided it most definitely didn't mean what he thought it meant.


End file.
